


Carry Me Home (And Dump Me on the Sofa)

by alenie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Future Fic, M/M, also stiles really has to pee, arachnophobes beware, brief mention of a giant spider, slight AU, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenie/pseuds/alenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fuck, not again,” Stiles moans as his legs give way beneath him and he falls flat on his face on the forest floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry Me Home (And Dump Me on the Sofa)

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED OKAY.

“Fuck, not _again_ ,” Stiles moans as his legs give way beneath him and he falls flat on his face on the forest floor. He’d thought he was done with this getting paralyzed shit when they’d fixed Jackson. But no, here he is in the woods outside Derek’s burnt-out house, newly injected with the paralytic venom of a freaking huge spider.

He’s not even supposed to be here today- he should be at school, at his Friday physics lecture- only the professor canceled class and Stiles made a spur-of-the-moment decision to come home for the weekend. (And yes, he’s regretting that decision just now.)

At least he’s not alone, or the spider would probably have dragged him off to its nest by now and sucked him dry. Is that a thing that spiders do? He might be confusing them with vampires. Anyway, Scott’s there, because Stiles bullied him into coming with, and so is Derek. Presumably his freaky werewolf senses alerted him to danger, because he _definitely_ was not invited. Stiles might be mostly over his pathetic high school crush on Derek Hale, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna go out of his way to spend time with him.

He can’t see what’s going on because he’s currently eating dirt, but he hopes they’re winning. It sounds like they’re winning. If winning sounds like grunting and snarling. Spiders don’t make much noise, especially not when they drop out of trees on top of you, as Stiles recently found out.

Eventually the sounds of fighting stop, and Stiles is just about to wonder whether maybe they lost after all, and he’s about to get eaten, when someone’s booted foot pokes him in the side.

“Gerrof,” Stiles says, and gets a mouthful of dead leaves for his trouble.

Hands are on him, flipping him over, and then Scott and Derek are there. Scott helpfully reaches down and brushes the leaves off his face. The two of them stand there with identical expressions on their faces, glancing at Stiles and then exchanging a look.

“He’s not coming home with _me_ ,” Scott says. “My mom would freak! Plus, I have a date with Allison tonight.”

“Scott, you are not leaving me here with Derek,” Stiles hisses.

Derek looks faintly amused.

“Sorry, Stiles,” Scott says. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

“Not if Derek kills me!”

“He’s not going to _kill you_. Jesus. Tell him, Derek. You won’t kill him, right?”

“Not if he keeps his mouth shut,” Derek says, letting his fangs show a little.

“There, see?” Scott says. He’s leaving before Stiles can stop him.

Derek eyes him distastefully before stooping down and taking hold of him under his arms. He stands in one clean movement and hitches Stiles over his shoulder.

Derek carries him back to the Camaro, shoves him in the backseat, and drives them to his apartment (because Derek is apparently pretending to be a normal human being these days, and lives in an apartment rather than a burned out shell of a house or an abandoned subway station).  He lugs Stiles up a long flight of stairs and into his apartment, and dumps him on the sofa before promptly disappearing into what Stiles assumes is his bedroom.

“Hey! You wanna maybe turn on the TV?” Stiles yells.

“Fine,” he sulks when there’s no answer. “I’ll just lay here. By myself. Asshole,” he mutters, because he _knows_ Derek can hear him.

And that’s exactly what he does for the next three hours- lie on the couch bored out of his mind- because it turns out that giant spider venom is longer-lasting than kanima venom. It’s not fun, but it’s okay. He can do this.

At the three and a half hour mark, he starts becoming aware of an increasing need to pee. Shit. It builds steadily over the next twenty minutes until he’s genuinely considering pissing his pants. It’s probably a miracle he hasn’t pissed them already. He’s still almost completely paralyzed; he can twitch his fingers, but that’s about it. How does he even have control over his bladder? Whatever, Stiles isn’t going to question minor miracles.

But if he doesn’t start regaining feeling faster- like, enough feeling to be able to get up and walk to the bathroom- he’s going to have a problem. This shit is getting painful.

He’s trying to take deep slow breaths, hoping that’ll help, when Derek abruptly reappears by the back of the couch and glares down at him.

“Now what’s wrong?” he says, like this is all Stiles’ fault.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just peachy.”

“Then why are you breathing like that?

“Oh my god, you’re such a _creeper_. Why are you even listening to me breathe anyway? It’s cool, all right? I’m good. Now just, like, go away. Go back to brooding or whatever.”

Stiles grimaces- and hey! Working facial muscles!- as a particularly strong wave of _need_ - _to-pee_ passes through him.

“I can hear your heart, I know you’re lying,” Derek says. “What is it? Does the poison hurt?” He’s come around to the front of the couch now, and he crouches down in front of Stiles and leans in and sniffs at him.

“Ugh, stop it. No. It’s, um, I really have to piss, okay? There. Now you know.”

“You should’ve just said,” Derek says, and starts pulling Stiles upright.

“Why? What are you doing? Derek? Derek!”

“Stop freaking out,” Derek says irritably. He doesn’t bother with the fireman’s carry this time, just hoists Stiles up into his arms bridal-style.

When Stiles realizes Derek’s taking him into the bathroom, he’s relieved. For about half a second. Derek stands him upright and supports his weight with an arm across his chest, and then _he goes for Stiles’ belt_.

“Don’t,” Stiles says. He tries as hard as he can to squirm away from Derek’s touch and only manages to twitch feebly.

It’s a surprise when Derek actually listens to him for once and pauses, hand stilling at Stiles’ waist.

“You’d rather piss your pants?” Derek asks.

“You know what, I probably would, because guess what? I am _not actually comfortable_ with the idea of your hand on my dick! Which seems to be where this is going!”

“It’s no big deal,” Derek says. Stiles can feel his shrug. “Yours won’t be the first I've touched.”

Okay, _wow_. He’s so flabbergasted he almost misses Derek tugging his belt off.

“Wait, Derek-”

“Do you ever stop talking? Look, the sooner you shut up, the sooner we can get this over with. You can piss yourself all you like at home, but this is my goddamn apartment and you’re going to do as I say.”

Derek pops the button on his jeans.

“Okay?”

By this point Stiles can barely think, he has to piss so badly.

“Okay,” he says weakly. “Yes. Please.”

Derek finds his zipper and drags it down. Then his hand is dipping into Stiles’ boxers, and drawing out his penis.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles says, because it’s _Derek_ , and he’s touching Stile’s dick.

Derek aims him at the toilet bowl and there’s an instant where Stiles just _can’t_ , no matter how much he needs to, and he makes an unintentional and completely pathetic noise in the back of his throat.

“Do it,” Derek says, like Stiles needs his permission, and Stiles flushes hot all over and lets go of his bladder. He sighs in relief, peeing for what feels like forever. The more he pees the better he feels, and the better he feels the more embarrassed he gets, as if he wasn’t embarrassed enough before. He’s overly conscious of the way their bodies are touching from top to bottom, all pressed together.

Eventually the flow trickles to a stop and Derek’s hand is _still_ on him, and now that Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s about to explode he’s able to pay attention just how good that feels.

With concentration, he manages to lift his head up from where it’s lolling on Derek’s shoulder and look down his body. His arousal flares sharply, the mortification he feels doing absolutely nothing to dampen it, and the sight of Derek’s hand still wrapped around him is enough to make Stiles’ dick start fattening up. And Derek’s not letting go, either. If anything, his grip tightens.

“Stiles,” he says, and Stiles can feel his breath on the back of his neck.

“Uh?” Stiles says.

“You’re getting hard.”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that!” Stiles says. “And I can’t help it. Can we maybe just ignore it? Just stop with the- with your hand, okay, stop touching me, because that is so not helping.”

There’s a soft huff of air against his neck, followed by Derek tucking Stiles awkwardly back into his boxers with his one free hand. He carries Stiles out of the bathroom and back to the couch. Stiles has just enough coordination to turn his head away from Derek when Derek lays him down.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles. “I have this amazing ability to instantly double the awkwardness of any given situation.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says, and moves back into Stiles’ range of vision.

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean…” Derek trails off. “I didn’t mind. When you-”

“Oh my god. You’re- please tell me you’re not messing with me?”

“I’m not,” Derek says. “I wouldn’t.”

“Christ, Derek- I really wish I could move right now.”

“What would you do, if you could?” Derek asks. His eyes are mesmerizing, whorls of green surrounded by lighter hazel. Stiles can’t look away.

“I’d kiss you, dumbass,” he says. “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

When Derek smiles, it lights up his whole face.

 


End file.
